


Valleys of the Shadows

by finch (afinch)



Category: His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Not a Crossover, Worldbuilding, panserbjorn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-25
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 08:32:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 13,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/607858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afinch/pseuds/finch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is not a happy story. This is the story of three girls who find themselves in the middle of a new African war. There are witches' revolts, daring escapes, the killing of the bears, echoes of freedom, the lack of mercy of the pirates, chains stronger than any steel, and three deaths, one by one by one. This is not a happy story, there are no happy endings, no miracles, no subtle knife, and no angels. This is the story of three girls, a slave, an unwilling pawn, and a refugee. This is story of three girls and three dæmons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Umutoni Umutesi

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HopefulNebula](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopefulNebula/gifts).



"Can your dæmon change? Prove it!" demanded the Mwami Captain to the first child in the line. Every week, without fail, the ruling Mwami family forced those whose dæmons were close to changing to line up. When a dæmon changed, a note of what form the dæmon had taken was made. If your dæmon was a rat, or a hare, or a hedgehog, you were fine. Even if it was an aardvark, bushbaby, or hyrax, you were fine. Shrews and mice were fine too, so were most bats, but any of the cats, or monkeys, or wild dogs, or pangolin, and you were deemed 'too aggressive'. Nobody ever came back, not even with the promises of the Mwami that once they had learned their place in society, they would return. Nobody had come back, so nobody knew what fate was there. They only had the rumours, some likely spread by the Mwami, about what happened in the colonies.

"Can your dæmon change? Prove it!" And so it went, until the line was done. Nobody liked to turn out, not unless they thought a dæmon would be fixed as aggressive. They were here today, watching Umutoni Umutesi, Umu for short, to see if her dæmon would change this week. One of these weeks it would, and it wasn't going to be anything 'passive'. Umu was going to have an aggressive dæmon and be sent off. Girls were sent off the same as boys were sent off, but in this particular village, a girl hadn't been sent off in over a year. Umu had tried, tried to listen, tried to be passive, but her dæmon, Turatsinze, never listened. Her mother had begged and pleaded with her to stop asking so many questions, to stop taunting the Mwami when they came to collect at the end of the season, to just be like the other girls. Umu tried, tried with ever fiber of her being to be like the others, to bow her head and complicity go along. But even when she did not speak, her eyes burned with intensity, hatred and determination. They knew it, the Mwami, when they came to visit. They had been whispering about her for a time. They took bets, back in their palaces, with their fanciful dæmons. They took bets on the Rubi that interested them, and fortunes could be made or lost on when a dæmon fixed, and what it fixed to. 

"Can your dæmon change? Prove it!" And the dæmon did not change, a hare who could not be kept calm, and a boy-now-man who had passed the test. Hares were the most common, hyrax the second most common. Bats were what the boys who wished they had more courage wound up with, and those with shrews were those who wished they had more cunning. The fun ones were hedgehogs, and the ones far too resigned to their fate had the rats. It was drilled into them from a very early age, to never even let a stray thought of crossing the Mwami enter their minds. Those who kept the thoughts at bay, who were just like their parents, they survived the tests, their dæmons took weak forms and they would go on to work in the fields, or work in the shops, and raise their children the same way. It was the perfect system, it guaranteed the Mwami would stay in power forever. They kept their bloodline clean by marrying in from other tribes in the area, but they would never marry a Rubi. Bugandan blood ran thick in the house of Mwami, and Kivu blood too; all of them masters of the Rubi.

"Can your dæmon change? Prove it!" Umu held Turat close, closed her eyes, and willed him to be an aardvark. The silence spoke for her. The silence that doomed her. She didn't open her eyes, she couldn't. She could hear Turat's heart beating furiously in her hands, but she hadn't felt him change. He was wrong, whatever he was. She knew though, she knew he was one of the cats. Which one remained to be seen. Even the small ones were wrong, were considered aggressive. He was never going to be a hyrax, he was never going to submit - they were never going to submit. "Well," the Mwami said softly, and Umu trembled with the sound of his voice. It wasn't gentle at all. Cold, sadistic. Almost gleeful. "Look what we have here. You have until sunset tonight." She did not move, still trembling. She could not hear anything above the beating of her own heart. The Mwami had more children to call, and no time to gloat over the new colonist worker. He could gloat later, as they made their way to the colonies. He did love taunting them, scared little children, barely adults, who faced nothing but a lifetime of hell. No, patience; there was plenty of time for Umu. He shoved her out of the way, and she gasped as she stumbled, eyes still closed, hands tightly against Turat. 

"Can your dæmon change? Prove it!" She was being held now, as the Mwami continued, held by many hands and many tears. The Mwami's voice was fading and it took her a while to realize she was being led off, with gentle whispers floating down. They didn't have much time, only a matter of hours before she had to report. The village knew better than to hide her; the last time they'd hidden a child, the Mwami had selected 10 children from the village to be sent in the missing child's stead. Once a child-now-adult had been selected, there was nothing else to be done. She would be marched, then caged, then boated, then- Then it was anyone's guess. Some said the colonists wore chains that could never come off. Some said they found a way to cut a dæmon from a person and kept the person intact to mindlessly work. Some said they only hurt the dæmons until the spirit of the person was completely and utterly broken. Only Umu would know, and Umu would never be able to tell them. Umu was leaving at sundown tonight, and she was never coming back.


	2. Hadya

Where does this story start? In Zanzibar, where worlds collide. Where else but there shall we start? Hadya had never seen a witch, or a pirate before, or even a real African. Her definition of real African she supposed, was different from most people's. Most of the Africans that she came across from her homeland were either smart and educated, or they were fools, practically chattel. She'd also never seen an African slave, but she'd heard of them. The Kingdom had outlawed slavery years ago, but it was still practiced in Africa and other places around the world. Most of Europe had banned it as well, and only pockets of Muscovy had slaves. The entirety of Siberia was slaves. Political prisoners sent there were relieved to be rescued, only to find that they'd been sold as slaves to neighbouring countries. Muscovy not only rid themselves of dissidents, but made money by doing so, and labour was gained.

Hadya was not a slave; she was the daughter of a trader, who was finally old enough to accompany her father to Zanzibar, the place of legends. Life in the Kingdom was hot and dry ,and offered little opportunity for advancement. It stretched forever, and her father told her stories of the camel races spanning for days on end. All of that land, and so few people spaced between. Hadya was impatient to leave, to see a world so much bigger (yet smaller) than her own.

"You will stay by the stall at all times," her father instructed when they walked off the ship. Still with her sea legs, Hadya could only hold on tightly to her father and nod. They were in Zanzibar for a week - a whole week! - and then her father would decide if she could stay and learn the ways of trading with him. Her Mustached Warbler was chirping wearily, dizzy like she was from the sudden shift to land. She struggled to keep to her feet, to be useful. How did her father do it, stay moving so fast when-

"You a witch girl?" a tall, dark African leered at her and she shook her head, kept her eyes on her father. She was afraid that if she cried out, she would throw up. "Not many with birds that aren't of the witch clans. Can your dæmon change?" Again she shook her head, moving slowly, the African moving along with her. He suddenly moved in front of her, and she stumbled, losing sight of her father. 

"Amit," she said softly, and the dæmon tried to flutter up, but could not hold his position, and flapped down to Hadya's shoulder.

"Witch," the man hissed, and Hadya shook her head, trying to push past him, but he only laughed, and took her hands in one of his. He was pulling her away from the direction her father had gone in, his leopard dæmon walking alongside her, trapping her. Amit was powerless against such a dæmon, even if he was alert and ready to fight. Terror hadn't overcome her, not yet, she was concentrating too hard on staying upright and not throwing up. He led her into a building, closing the door behind them with his foot. Then it was up a small flight of stairs to a room with a bed. He gently sat her down on the bed, the leopard at the base of the bed, never taking its eyes off her.

"I work for the pirates," the man said, rummaging about the room for something. "I am a nice ally to have. Sometimes the catch at sea isn't so great. They are not desperate though; they do not deal in the trade of slaves, only products, but witches blood … that fetches a fair price in Kirinyaga and Maasai."

"I am not a witch!" said Hadya, and the leopard moved fast as lightning, pinning her to the bed. "I am from the Kingdom, I have never met a witch!" She was desperately thrashing about the bed, and Amit was trying to claw at the leopard futilely. He must have got a good scratch in, for the man growled in pain, then gasped in triumph. While Hadya thrashed under the leopard, he stalked the bird, cupping the small box cage over it. Instantly Hadya went still. "No," she begged, "no, please, Amit! Never, never, never, Amit, never. Never."

He ignored her cries and took the box to the window, holding it over the street below. Hadya gasped in pain, the terror that should have set in so long ago finally hitting her. "Please, please, I'll do anything, don't hurt him!"

"How long is your father in town for?" 

"A week, please, please don't do this, please. He will pay you, he'll pay you, please don't hurt Amit, please, I'll do anything, anything at all, please-" her voice was shrill, desperate. She hoped that someone could hear, but as she could barely hear the man's soft words over the noise of the market below, she knew it was hopeless. She knew even if they heard the screams, they would not come. 

The man's lips curled into a cruel smile. "Anything?"

She nodded furiously, trying to scrabble at the leopard so she could reach Amit. 

"Say it."

"Anything, I'll do anything," she sobbed. "Anything, please don't hurt him, please don't hurt him, please do-"

The man drew the box from the window, smiling. "Stop snivelling, I need you. I won't hurt him. You do exactly as I say and you and Amit will be back at your father's stall by midweek. Tonight we'll kip here, and take the ferry across in the morning." He looked at her for a long while, and she couldn't hope to know what he was thinking, but he laughed, long at hard, and she shivered on the bed, knowing whatever plans he had for her, they were no cruel and devious.

"Amit …" she trailed off softly, reaching for the cage. But the man laughed again. "He stays in here until we're done."

The leopard moved off her at strange words from the man, and Hadya could only draw her knees up, shaking. She looked at the box, at the frantic Amit, and longed to hold him, to have the comfort of her dæmon. The terror of being kidnapped gave way to the terror of not having her dæmon in reach, of losing a piece of her so suddenly and so quickly.


	3. Fola

Fola woke to the dawn clawing its way through her window. It was always the sun that got to her first, not the noise of the camp. She pointed her small tent east, it was best to rise with the sun. The camp stretched for miles, it was all Fola could see. Somewhere to the North was the border of her home, of Bemba. The last war had been two years ago, this time not as a result of revolts in Rubi, but the Independent Kingdom of Maasai overstepping the borders with Tanganyika. Tanganyika declared war. Trade with Katanga had dropped, and Katanga invaded Kivu. Buganda retaliated to defend Kivu (and the slave colony on Lake Kivu), and the Bawemba again decided the time was right for independence. Katanga struck down hard, and Fola's family was listed as an enemy of the state. She had fled moments after hearing the news, taking her little brother and running out the door. The villagers hadn't stopped them, they knew it was run or die, and every second was precious. She'd left her brother with a Bawemba family just north of the border and had crossed alone. She was still a child, but Onika, her dæmon, had settled. To Katanga, that was more than enough reason to suspect she'd had something to do with the planning and more than enough reason to put her to death.

The border was fortified, but not heavily, as Maravi wasn't as wealthy as some of the more northern or southern countries, and Katanga didn't care who left so long as they didn't come back. She'd heard the songs and stories as a child enough times to know which stars to follow. Follow the dagger to freedom, she knew, and she did. If you couldn't follow the dagger, you risked Chakunzi, with the monstrous Phiri, and slavery, or worse. She had followed the dagger, slipped under the fence, and ran until she hit the camps. She was a girl, alone, but she was a fierce girl, and her sly chimp dæmon helped her get by. 

Two months, she had lived in the camps, waiting for her parents. She knew there would be no word of her brother, that for all intents and purposes her brother was dead. She had saved him by giving him a new identity, a new chance. Perhaps his new family wouldn't be so keen to stage succession rallies against Katanga. She could work some, and knew to do that, she needed to head to Lusaka. She spoke Bemba, but the official language was Nyanja - that was the problem with Maravi and Chakunzi - the borders weren't demarcated well at all, and the language shared was similar (if not the same), so knowing where you were was difficult. Until you were either asked for your papers or not asked for your papers. The administrators of the camps spoke Bemba, and Fola resigned herself to never seeing her family and asking for help. 

She was young, and she'd been educated in Bemba. True, Bemba didn't have universities, not like Katanga or Maravi or the Arab Republic of Wayao, but she was smart, and maybe she could use her skills in Lusaka somewhere. She'd dreamed of being a teacher in Katanga, and though she was a Bawemban, she knew she could do it. She had a chimp for a dæmon after all, those were rare, they said. People whose dæmons took the forms of chimps were smart, cunning, and natural leaders. 

It had been smart, to take her brother and run and not wait for her parents. It had been smart to follow the dagger. It had been smart to turn down the offers of assistance from other Bawemban families in the camp - those would come with far too many strings attached; she saw the way the men leered at her, and she knew she would do anything to keep from trading her body to survive.

Most Bawemban weren't as educated as her, most didn't have a chance in Lusaka, except to beg for scraps from the tourists. No, the wars never really reached Lusaka, a global city. The poor were a novelty, the pictures of refugee camps gold mines for the scammers. Innocent tourists, thinking they were helping. Fola knew if she were on the streets of Lusaka, she'd scam everyone she met. It was why there were papers and passes. If you didn't show correct papers, they arrested you and sent you back to the camps and your chances of getting another pass were slim. Staying on an expired pass was just as bad as staying with no papers at all. 

First though, Fola needed a pass. Once she had that, she would get a permanent pass and make a real life for herself. Maybe she could be a teacher here in Maravi.

"Do you speak Nyanja?" was the first question the woman asked her, in Bemba, and Fola shook her head. 

"I can learn," she said softly, giving the woman a pleading look. "I have no family here. I can learn, I promise." It wasn't a pleading tone at all, but a determined one. Onika did his part to help, chittering at the green snake dæmon of the woman, reaching his hand to touch the snake's head. The snake did not hiss and Onika twirled his hands around the skin, letting the snake slide through his fingers. Fola stared at the woman and tried her hardest not to blink. 

Something must have took, for the woman sighed, and scribbled on her pad. "I'll tell you what, since I know you're going to be the sort that won't leave me alone until you get what you want, I'll give you a three-day pass. But if you want to stay-"

"Learn Nyanja," Fola said quickly, careful to control her emotions, even as her heart beat wildly. She hadn't even had to answer other questions about herself. Onika had come through again. "I can do that." 

For the first time, the woman smiled. "No, if you want to stay, offer your assistance to the bears."


	4. Slave

It was cold and Umu clung to her Golden Cat, who was not golden. He was a sleek cinnamon colour, with deep brown spots, and almost white tummy, chin, and eyelashes. It was like he was wearing a suitcoat, with a tail that faded from cinnamon into the deepest black. In any other world, Turat would be the envy of everyone around him. Here, in the colony, Turat was a danger. Other dæmons looked dingy and shabby from the journey over, but Turat was still stunning. When the foreman came to check on them, Umu would glare at him, her brown eyes beating him down just as Turat's yellow eyes glared at the dæmons. She didn't understand the language of her new captors. They had crossed the lake and into hell. She'd been taunted by the Mwami until she was loaded onto the boat, chains clinking. She'd been chained since reporting at sundown, the Mwami taking no chances with these potential threats. Many screamed, strained against the steel and vowed revenge, or begged to be free. Umu didn't see the point. It was how their captors broke them, the Bugandan men with their strange words. Once they had crossed lake, a short boat ride, they belonged to Buganda, and if someone screamed, the captors did not remove the chains, but would wait, patient as water. They would let the chained captives shout until they were hoarse in the face and could only whisper; they would wait until the whispers were gone and there was silence. They took the silence, filled it with their will and cruelty, and that was how their captors broke them. Umu didn't scream. She knew better, and her chains were taken off soon after the boat ride. After that, Umu had given up counting the days. What was the point? All the days were the same. She had been assigned to the gold mines, which she had been told were safer than the tin mines. A tin mine had collapsed not too long ago, killing dozens of the slaves.

Slaves. The word sent a shiver up her spine. It was cold for so many reasons, reality itself being one of them. She would never be free again. Her stubborn nature had given her a one-way ticket to captors who didn't speak Kinyarwanda or Kirundi, their mouths moving strangely. It was easy to tell what they meant - they always yelled and meant faster, faster. They would beat the slaves who openly talked in a Rubi language to them, and though Umu tried to pick apart the Bugandan language, her tongue tripped over the heavy syllables, and she kept her head down and searched for nuggets of gold. Sometimes, when the dæmons fought, the captors would chuckle and take bets. Umu watched the money - never mind who had the better 'more aggressive' dæmon, Umu knew the real prize was in knowing who had the right eye for searching dæmons. If she couldn't learn their language, she would have to read them another way. Fighting was the only entertainment the slaves had, when one slave challenged another over anything. It wasn't as though the captors played favours or assigned special roles to anyone. They all went into the mines the same, and all came out covered in dirt. They were each allocated five minutes in the river, though sometimes the dæmons would fight and the loser would have to give his five minutes to the winner. Umu never fought, she only watched the captors, and when they caught her looking at them, she would stare back, her brown eyes not lacking in intensity, and Turat would stare with his golden eyes, until the captors looked away. Good. She unsettled them. 

One day Turat sniffed around in the bushes and came out with a bird in his mouth. He hadn't time to put it down before they were marched into the mine, but Umu could tell it was still alive, though badly injured. She picked it up, and the shock knocked her to her feet. She was holding a dæmon, a living dæmon with no human around. Umu wasn't going to abandon the bird - not when she had nothing else going for her in the colony, so she gingerly tucket the bird down her shirt, using a strip of cloth from the hem of her skirt to hold the shirt in place. The bird would at least be protected from the dust while she worked. It should have scared her, a dæmon without a human, but it made her heart beat faster and faster with something she could only describe as hope.

It was foolish to think the others' dæmons wouldn't sense there was another one around. As they exited the cave, a mob of men and women alike surrounded her, Turat, and the wounded bird dæmon. "It's hurt," Umu explained. "Let me give it some water, let it fly to its-"

"A witch and her dæmon have a powerful bond," the mob explained, grabbing her arms before she could grab the bird from her breast. "She'll come for it, and when she does, we'll make her use her witch powers and free us." Umu had only heard rumours of the witches, she had no idea if the witches actually contained the power the mob claimed they did. Not that it mattered: Umu was kicking, Turat swiping at the other dæmons, but was hopeless - one girl against many, with more coming to join by the moment. "I won't let you," she said, bravely. Bravery was just another word for stubbornly stupid, right? Just like with the Mwami, her bravery had made her a slave, now it was going to cost at least one life, maybe more. She could just say no, just let them take the dæmon, there was no way to resist, but she shook her head, defiant always. "I won't let you. I'll fight you all - I could beat you in a fair fight."

"We've already decided," they sneered. "You're going to fight Imana for it."

Umu's heart sank and she felt her limbs go numb against the two that held her. She didn't know the name of Imana's dæmon, but Imana himself was a fierce, bitter man. He got into more fights than anyone else, and his dog dæmon was wild, always snarling, and once or twice Umu was certain that there had been foam coming out of her mouth.

"Or give up the bird willingly."

Umu shook her head instantly. She wasn't going to let them torture the bird to death to draw out a witch so they could torture the witch and make her let them go. They were slaves, yes, but were they not, even in their captivity, Rubi? It was a Rubi proverb to never attack a man who was not your enemy, for you would increase your enemies tenfold. It was stubborn, foolish, and would end badly. But Umu couldn't say no. The mob let go and Imana's dæmon took that as the sign to charge Turat, biting into him with pure savagery. She heard her screams, heard them until they were the beat of her heart, and then she heard silence.

When she could hear again, it was a soft voice, whispering back into the land of the living, of the light. _Come now_ , the voice said in sweet notes. _Join me now, little brave one. Are you with me?_ She opened her eyes, the mob gone, the dog gone, but the pain still there, her entire being on fire. She felt for Turat, felt his matted fur. His silky coat had finally been sullied, and he lay bleeding and broken. She choked back a sob, the bird was gone from her breast, she had lost, as she knew she would. _Can you hold your dæmon?_ asked the soft voice, gently, so gently, and it took another gasp of pain for Umu to realise that she wasn't at the colony, there was a beautiful woman standing over her, and the tiny bird was nestled in her palm. Umu felt the ragged fur of Turat, ran her fingers down his side, curling around his midsection. He was still small, but she was weak. _We are not far from the mine, they will find us soon. Can you hold your dæmon?_ The pretty woman was calm, but her eyes were worried, and in that moment, Umu realised she was the witch the bird belonged to. Turat whinged softly as Umu wrapped a second arm around him and nodded to the witch. Within seconds they were in the air. Umu clung to her Golden Cat.

It was cold.


	5. Pawn

Hadya walked and walked, until she thought her legs might fall off. Her beautiful Amit was in a cage around the neck of the leopard. The leopard was full grown and he was a small bird, no bigger than the leopard's paw. The cage didn't seem to bother her, indeed, she sadistically loved to taunt Hadya by running ahead, forcing Hadya to run until she thought her heart might burst. Then the man would yell a command - an African word, of an African language she did not know. It was not Arabic, that much she knew. He would yell - and the dæmon would stop, turn around, her tongue rolling out of her mouth in laughter while Amit screeched, terrified. 

They hadn't left Zanzibar yet; they were walking away from Zanzibar city, walking as fast as the man dared to press her. Something had spooked him at the ferry to Tanganyika, and he used Amit in the cage to make her run, run as fast as she could, out of the docks, out of Zanzibar city, and into the unknown. She was the Arab daughter of a merchant in a market teeming with the world; a girl running scared was nothing they hadn't seen, and nobody paid her any mind, much like the screaming from the night before. They simply didn't notice. To be fair, they hadn't noticed all the other times either. Good luck to a man if he could smuggle his slave out of Zanzibar. Even better luck to a man if he could keep a slave in Tanganyika. 

She knew better than to beg, knew it would get her nowhere. She was Hadya, she would figure it out somehow. It would be easier if she could hold Amit, have him with her, but the man, who had never revealed his name, hadn't given it. She didn't ask if she would be back to her father by mid-week. The very moment their plans had changed, she knew she'd seen him for the last time. She knew too, that whatever task he had planned for her, once it was over, there were two options. Either the man would kill her, or the man would keep Amit in his cage and make her dance for him and his disgusting leopard every night. And by dance, she meant share a bed with him, nothing more than an unchained sex slave. As if reading her thoughts, he spoke, breaking the long silence.

"You do this of your own volition, you know," he sang. "You are so willing, my pet." Then he laughed, deeply and loudly. Hadya looked to the ground, looked at the leopard who held Amit hostage. She was a hostage, she had no choice. How could he suggest that she did this willingly? How could he suggest there was anything close to a choice in the matter? "You walk free," he hissed. "You walk free, side by side me, and our dæmons walk together as well. What a pretty sight we are, my dæmon lovingly carrying yours. People look at us and they see love." Hadya trembled at his words. So he did mean to make her a slave to his carnal desires when this was over. He placed his arm around her shoulders, drawing her close, and she let out a sob. This was slavery, a different kind of slavery. He laughed again and released her. "The pirates don't deal in slaves, but they will pay me handsomely for you, witch."

"I'm not a wi-"

"Hush, we're here."

They were here, at the edge of the island, where a boat was moored. They approached, with the man taking slow, cautious steps. Without warning, the leopard disappeared in a poof of golden Dust, the cage with Amit falling to the ground. Hadya ran to the cage, wrestled it open and held Amit tightly in her hands. His tiny heart throbbed and her heart might explode. That little act alone was enough for the pirates to surround her. She was weary now, and she had her Amit back. "I'm not a witch."

"No," said the pirate, dropping a bag of gold coins into her hand. "But we still need you. Would have been nicer to take you in through Tanganyika, but with us will have to do. The one day we need to sneak you in is the one day they're asking questions and double checking stamps. They'd have caught on to the little cage, figured you were a slave being smuggled. Plans, ruined." The pirate looked sad and angry by this, and Hadya wished he'd hurry up and get the point already. "Oh, you can run of course, back to Zanzibar. But the authorities will be waiting. You killed a man, we saw you do it. You'll be hanged. Your word against ours. We might be pirates, but we don't lure men to the edge of the island for sex just to kill them. Come aboard, or be hanged. Your choice."

Finally he got to the point. It wasn't a choice, just like following the man had never been a choice. She supposed they used an arrow to shoot him with, not like it would matter. They were right - pirate or not, they'd set this up on Zanzibar, where pirates were respected for their crafts. She was the daughter of an Arab merchant, on her first visit, bored, took a man for sex and killed him for all his gold coin. Going with them was an easier way to stay alive. Self-preservation is a dangerous thing, even if keeping your life meant walking into the abyss.

She handed the gold bag back to the pirate and strode off for the ship, not letting him see her fear. They had her, their captive, their unwilling 'willing' participant, for whatever they were doing. The man had mentioned witches blood, but it couldn't be that, not with how the pirates are talking. "We're going to die," Amit whispered into her ear, and she only nodded. It was how they did it that was going to matter most. 

Once aboard, they set off, two pirate ships headed South. They didn't chain her, or lock Amit away. They didn't need to; until they hit land, she had no hope. Even then, she had no hope. There would always be something, always something to bind her, something she hadn't thought of; she shivered in despair, her thoughts couldn't keep up with the savagery of men.


	6. Refugee

Three days had turned into three weeks had turned into three months. Lusaka hadn't accepted her with wide open arms immediately. First, she had to meet the envoy to the bears, Illota. To do that, she had to convince a professor at one of the Universities that it was worth his time to make an introduction. She had 72 hours, and she wasted 8 of them waiting for a professor outside his office until he coldly told her she needed an appointment. Earliest available appointments were months away. She wasn't going to go back to the camps, and finally she and Onika took drastic action. If she couldn't get through to the professors, she'd get through to their assistants. And young men, even men ten years older than her who should have known better, let Onika twirl his fingers in their dæmons' hair while they told her exactly how to get an introduction. From there, she let Onika heavily pet the mouse-dæmon secretary of the President of the University. Never mind the secretary was a woman. Invitation in hand, Fola set out to corner a bear. 

Day Three, with only half the day remaining and they had been introduced, then Fola had said, "Well my friend, where do we begin?" He had been intrigued her politeness on the spot, and started a barrage of questions. There had been questions about her upbringing, her education, what the refugee camps had been like and how long she had been there. How had she come to leave so soon, and how had she a dæmon who was a chimp? It was the first time she'd realised how truly rare the chimp dæmons were, the bear telling her that he had himself only heard of one other person having such a dæmon, but that there were a handful of them, sprinkled about history. She had her own questions about the bears and where they came from, and how they avoided being the next conquest of Wayao or Tanganyika. How could so many different people exist in one country at the same time? The Bawemba could not coexist inside someone else's country. 

Her skill and deftness in asking and answering questions appealed her to the bear, and he signed for her to have another three-day pass. For that time, they did nothing but ask one another questions, the chimp watching the bear intently: his manipulation - and by extension Fola's - worked largely with another dæmon to control. Not that she needed to manipulate the bear. He was forthright, open with her. After three days of questions, he requested that she have a three-week pass so he could teach her the basics of the language of Mtwara. It was a crude mix of languages, of Arabic and Makua and English and the language of the bears, which had no name, as it was simply the language of the bears. The language of Mtwara was called Pidgin, and it was very different from the Zanzibar Pidgin heard at port, and very different from the Mombassan Pidgin. Mtwaran Pidgin was its own language, completely unique because of the element of the bears. 

Fola was surprised not only at how quickly she took to the language, but at how quickly she felt loyal to the bear. He sensed it too, in the way that Onika moved around him. He then requested that she have a three-month pass, to learn the culture of the bears. Lusaka felt like home in a way that home never had, and Fola found herself thinking less and less of Bemba and their struggle for independence from Katanga. She missed her brother more than her parents, but she knew her brother had been alive. She doubted her parents made it out of Katanga alive. It was still strange to hear the refugee bear talk of a country where multiculturalism was the norm, not the exception, where divergent worldviews came together and lived in harmony. The old home of the bears was funny on her tongue. Morocco. She didn't even know where to put it on a map, or where in Africa it could be. Illota said that was for the best, that sometimes people didn't deserve the homes they'd been given. She didn't push the issue, didn't want him to bring up her people and their quest for a homeland. She was scared of what he might say; she was smart, yes, but he was smarter and she had a lot to learn from him. It was clear that he wanted relationships with the bears and humans to improve, it was why he'd sought out someone who could be of assistance. 

Once, the topic turned to dæmons and Onika and the strange ways about him, but Fola played on the differences of bear and human to explain Onika away, without ever explaining anything at all. Once, the topic turned to bear cubs and did Illota have a family. But Illota, also skilled in the art of manipulation turned it back on her family. In turn, she asked him to tell her about the other bears, bears across the world. Surely the refugee bears of long-ago Morocco weren't the only bears in the world.

"Only the ice bears are truly safe," he said, without having to think about it. "They are the only of the bears to control their own island. The Tartars come - much like our pirates - and steal for money, but they steal children and sell them. That is their biggest threat, and since bear-cubs are not tameable, the Tartars are no threat and they do not seek to enslave them."

"Slaves in the North, like the Phiri of Chakunzi, or the slave camps the Buganda keep or-"

"Or the slaves the world over. The Tartars are the last remnant in the non-Muscavian Northern regions to have slaves, and even then, they deal mostly in children and either sell to the highest bidder or raise the children as Tartan servants. Do you know why the bears have no slaves?"

Fola thought on the question for a few hours. "Because they have no concept of honour," she said finally, watching Illota careful to see how he took the answer. 

He didn't ask her to elaborate, nor did he tell her if she was right or wrong. It was the question that was more important than the answer. 

"It's time," was all he said. "Come to Mtwara."


	7. Sacrifice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are references to rape; nothing explicitly stated or detailed.

The pirates told Hadya their secrets - there was no point in not telling them to her. She was bound to them now, caught up in what happened. If they failed, she died, if they won, she might as well be dead. They were the new pirates of Somalia, and they wanted a homeland. They couldn't have theirs back, they could never hope to negotiate with Xamar over Xamar city. Sudan licked their lips, waiting to swoop in and expand their Arab empire. There was a sliver of land called Mtwara, it had seaports, and witches, and pirates, and bears. They could buy, and bribe, and trick the witch-clans against one another, sell their blood to the highest bidder in Mombassa; the pirates would fall into line at having a real homeland. The Makua were passive, and let the bears guard them. So then, take out the bears, take out a king, and put a pirate in his place. Slaughter the bears, and sell the Makua to the ever-eager Tanganyikans, sell them for triple on the black market, sell them in an open market somewhere in Chakunzi. Take their little pet, the daughter of a merchant with the little bird dæmon, and tell the witches you have one of their own. Tell the story of binding a seller's daughter - any seller's daughter, African, Arab, Asian, Muscovy - and how you brought her to Mtwara without any chains, how she came willingly. How nice it would have been to take her through Tanganyika, but a boat will do. The pirates will have a homeland, hostages, and a large supply of wealth. No port around the world is safe, no-one left unattended for more than a moment anywhere, any place in the entire planet. It is a new war, and they'll have won it hardly playing.

It seems far-fetched to think they are the first to come up with the idea, the idea of controlling dæmons to enslave populations has been around since the dawn of time, but they have found the softest underbellies to strike at, and so they will strike. War will never be the same again. Even if they fail, war will never be the same again. Never ever they tell her, over and over again. It wasn't that long from Zanzibar to Mtwara, but they were taking their time. They had expected the man with the leopard dæmon to walk her through Tanganyika, so they had time. They had time to let Hadya roam the ship, learn every inch of it. In the end, it wouldn't matter. The man with the leopard dæmon had lied to her from the moment he met her; he had intended to hold Amit around the leopard's neck until her own death. The pirates confirmed his intention, but laughed at the idea that they would ever let him keep her. He was a pawn, a willing one, and she was his unwilling mate. Now she was their unwilling mate and they let her have her run of the ship.

She needed to wait until they were closer, and there was nothing she could do about the second ship, but she knew the entirety of this ship, and she knew how to sink it and kill everyone aboard. She never lost her sea-legs, and that made it easier. It was dear sweet Amit who said it first.

"We'll die too."  
"We can't let them kill the bear king and stage a coup over a lawless country and do the monstrous things they say they will."  
"But we'll die; we could live the other way."

She'd lost count of the days on the ship, lost count of which pirate had claimed her when for which purpose, or what her father looked like. She hadn't seen him much while she was growing up, he was always off travelling. He'd told her to stay near him, and she hadn't. That was their parting conversation, the last thing he will have ever said to his daughter. It was too late to worry about if he would ever come to regret it or not. When the ship rolled past in the middle of the day, Hadya knew it was a sign to whomever they had bribed. Later, when they bound her hands and pulled her up on deck, with Amit back in a cage, she knew it was a warning to the witches they were threatening. They had trapped a dæmon in a cage and the witches would get the message, loud and clear; fight with them, or their daughters would be on the next pirate ship, her life in their hands. Hadya wondered if those watching were thinking the same things she was: toss a bird dæmon in a cage out into the sea, and how long does it take the captive to die? Did it hurt? Amit struggled in his cage, and Hadya wept openly - would they do the same to her? 

When dusk crept along the horizon, they unbound her hands, and told her not to leave the ship.  
Not that it mattered, she'd never learnt to swim. Not that it mattered, she wasn't planning to try to escape. She scurried below the deck, quickly, and the pirates laughed, and discussed who would stay behind to 'keep her engaged'. In the boiler room, she turned the pressure gauge as far as it would go, and lit all the candles she could. The pressure would blow the tank, and the light would catch the gas and everything would go up in a giant ball of flame. She ran to her room, threw herself on the bed and waited. It would take time for the gas to build up, but the pirates weren't moving until the cover of darkness, the cover of a new moon. Evil never took the light, evil always waits in the dark; the inherent absence of light is where He does His best work. Hadya was planning to give them all a lot of light and push Evil back into the ocean.

"We'll die," Amit pleaded. "I don't want to die, Hadya."

"I don't want to die either, Amit," she said softly, admitting her fear for the first time. "Time to say our prayers and pray that it makes a difference."

If they didn't, they would be dead. But maybe it would stop them, maybe it would warn the bears, maybe something would happen to ruin it all. Hope was the only thing she had, and she clung to it tightly, clung to Amit, her best friend, whom she would do anything for, except live.

"I love you," she whispered at the same time as "I don't want to die," and then there was a brilliant explosion of yellow and white and then nothing.


	8. Honour

The bears didn't need the explosion to know that something was wrong, and they were under attack, though since the explosion had probably been seen on the Island and Tanganyika, attack was not only imminent, but would likely be heavily fortified. When the witch-guard fled, the bears knew they had been betrayed by allies. Illota woke their human ambassador quickly, and set her outside the cave with a sword and told her not to anyone pass. He supposed he might have taught her how to further use the sword, but she was quick, she would learn. Onika, darling that he was, scampered as high up the tree above her head as he could, to look for anything that might be coming. Fola could hear a fight on the beach, the Makua beating back the pirates, or perhaps the traitorous witches slaughtering the humans. All that was were the screams. 

The ice bears were the safest because they shared with no-one who could find value in something they had. Even while on edge and waiting for the attackers, Fola was thinking about Mtwara and how it could possibly exist in its current form. Mtwara was an experiment, one of the rest of Africa to possibly follow. How could they? If it wasn't the Bawemba people fighting for their right to self-determination, it was the many other tribes that had been pulled into various Kingdoms. If you took them all and divided them up, the continent of Africa would be over 400 little countries. Like how they did it Europe. How could multiculturalism work unless it was under the guise of Zanzibar City, where slaves were still taken, and witches burned? It was too much to ponder, too much stuff filling her head.

"I should be paying attention," she said to the air, to Onika, to the screams coming from the beach. It now hit her that the Makua weren't fighting back the pirates, the pirates were dying in water from the explosion. It wasn't the Makua on the beach, which left the witches. Witches against witch? Could it be there were some who had not turned? She was scared of the witches, of the all-powerful wisdom they possessed. She was scared of how lightning fast they were with their bows, and how they glided effortlessly in the air. She was scared of allies, and for good reason. The pirates had done something to get the witches to turn - they had found that any ally can become an enemy if you find the right price. Fola knew enough of the world to know that was especially likely if that price wasn't money. Witches arrows were useless against such a threat.

They had encircled her before she knew what was happening, before she'd had time to react, and with the tip of an arrow at her neck, she knew she should drop the sword. Her throat would be slit before she could raise the sword in any form of defence. 

"I request the courtesy of my dæmon," Fola said, her voice firm. The witch nodded and stepped back, the bow still raised, notched, and aimed at her throat. She barely had time to process that the witches intended for her to die a slow, painful death when Onika swung down from the branches, landing gently on her shoulder. The witch gasped, and lowered the bow. 

"You have a Golden Monkey."

Was there a significance of Onika? What could it possibly be? They were rare in her homeland, and Illota had said they were exceedingly rare, but he didn't say why they were rare. She didn't want to fill her brain up with dæmonology and why people have certain dæmons. That was for the true scholars. She wasn't a scholar. Right now, she was a soldier, in battle, and she stared down the witch, refusing to answer her question.

"You will step aside, child, and we will let you live," offered the witch, but Fola tightened her grip on the sword and still said nothing. 

The witch raised the bow again, but before an arrow could fire, she gasped and looked to the sky. "Yama-Akkba," she whispered. Instantly the witches were under a hail of arrows, and Fola, not stupid, stepped back into the shadows, in the entrance of the cave. She didn't know who the friends coming to her aid were. She only knew of what Illota has asked her to do; she would catch a witch who dared cross the threshold, though what the witches wanted with the bears, she could only guess at. It didn't take long for the first witch to cross the barrier, and with Onika still on her shoulder, she sliced her sword in air, splitting the witch's skull neatly down the middle. She had seen worse after the previous rebellion, she knew the power of a machete. But this, this was a blade that cut like butter through the witch's skull. She had no time to think about it; she dragged the body by the ankles and hid with it in the shadows. The shadows offered protection, but little way of knowing friend from foe. Fola prayed quickly for guidance, her sword steady. Illota had told her to protect the bears, and she would.

She couldn't kill the second witch, the blow had glanced wrong and she only managed to slice off half her arm. Enough for the witch to yell a warning, enough for more than one witch to heed the warning, and enough for an arrow to slice through her throat, not killing her on impact. More witches came, and Fola was aware enough to see that they were fighting the same witches she had been. Not all of the witches had turned. It gave her little comfort. One of them came to her and pressed a hand to her temple, murmuring a witch-prayer to guide her in death. It was odd, dying, especially slowly. Onika had moved down, lying his head against hers, temple to temple. She couldn't speak, but she didn't need to. She could hear the witches still battling outside, could hear screams on the beach, could hear the bears' roar as they put on their armour for battle. She could hear a scream from a witch that had nothing to do with the battle. Even in dying, she recognized a scream of love like that. It was a scream she'd heard all too often. She'd gone from fighting in a rebellion to fighting to protect a borrowed homeland. In all, it wasn't such a terrible way to die. It was getting colder though, and Onika could only keep her so warm. They had their arms wrapped tightly around each other, heads pressed even tighter. She couldn't say the words, and he didn't speak them either. In a brilliant firework of red, he was gone, her last image the pop of his existence before she was no more as well.


	9. Senseless

This time, when Umu woke, there were many voices, and Turat was licking her ear. "Hello," said the witch. She didn't say anything else, and Umu didn't say anything for a long while. "We were flying," she finally managed, her body still sore and achey. Turat was awake, that was a good sign. She couldn't remember if he had been earlier. She couldn't remember if she'd been awake, or dreaming earlier. She remembered Imana and the fierce dog and the deep cuts into her soul that had been made where Turat was bit. She remembered flying, and the cold, she always remembered the cold.

It was warm, there was a fire going, and she was nestled close to it, Turat even closer. "We must go," said the witch. "Some of our own have betrayed us. You will be safe as long as you stay here by the fire. We shall return for you." Umu closed her eyes as the witches prepared to leave, Turat licking her face once more. She could hear them flying away, until one, one lone witch remained, her little bird dæmon coming right up to Umu and nestling in her throat. The one she had saved. "Kyeet will look after you," said her witch softly. "You are free now, dear Umu. Your freedom in exchange for fighting for Kyeet. Stay by the fire. I shall return."

Her words were like music, filling the cavities in her soul that Imana had made. "Free," she whispered, and Kyeet chirped. "Free," she whispered again, pulling herself to a sitting position. Turat had bandages around him; he was still wounded, but he had been looked after while she slept - her sleep would help them both heal. She fell back asleep, too exhausted to talk to Kyeet about her freedom. When she woke, the fire was low, and Kyeet was beating his wings to keep the meagre flames alive. She was much more alert now, peering about the cave, trying to figure out where the witch had brought her. There was a sound she kept hearing, a sound she had never heard before, but had dreamed about. A sound that could not be heard in the landlocked country of Rubi, and certainly not deep into the earth at the mines. A sound that was nothing like her imagination, but was so much more than it. She squinted against the darkness, seeing the light reflect off of water. Water was nothing new to her, they had the lake. But that sound, she knew that sound, it was-

The rock hit her in the shoulder, and Kyeet chirped once and flew away immediately. He was going to help, she knew. He wouldn't abandon her, not after she refused to abandon him. He was going to find the witch, with the soft gentle voice. The witch had used her powers to save her from an angry mob and almost certain death; she would save her from this danger as well. Umu couldn't even call out, couldn't do anything but sit with a blanket wrapped around her, her fingers curled lightly in Turat's fur. The second rock glanced off her arm. Now that she was facing away from the fire, she could start to see the shapes, the outline, the light glistening off the ever-stretching water. The sound, the sound was gone, and in its place was a horrible screech of human hatred. They were the Mwami and the Buganda, coming to drag her back to her cell. There was no such thing as freedom, not even here, at the edge of the world. 

The next rock struck her face, cutting her. Turat pushed his body close into hers, but it was no use, the next rock hit him, and then she saw their faces. They were out of rocks, and they pressed in tightly, yelling in a language Umu could not understand. She knew the language of her people, the language of Rubi, and that was all. Her tongue tripped over words, but the words did not matter; now it was the hands, pulling her along, skimming her feet above the ground, their dæmons nudging the weak and weary Turat along. They threw her into the sand, and she curled her hands in it. She couldn't hear it anymore, the sound of water moving over land in a steady rhythm. They were still screaming, pointing. There was a fire on the water, and Umu couldn't understand why it mattered. There was water and waves and wasn't that all that-

She couldn't see anymore, they had surrounded her, kicking her, screaming in angry tones for something that couldn't have possibly been her fault. Something that, had they taken a moment to look, they would have realized. She was tired, her head was tired, and she wanted the angry men to move. For beyond the fire, the blackness of the water stretched on and did not hit land on the other side. The blows were fierce and her blood spilled into the sand she was desperate to hold onto, but the more tightly she held, the qiucker the sand loosed itself from her grasp.

They were ripping her clothes off of her now, their dæmons circling Turat, snapping at him though he posed no threat to them, feeding off the frenzy of the humans. They were taking her clothes off and beating her with their bare hands, handprints decorating her skin like icing designs on a cake, fragile and delicate and raw. Her legs were being snapped back until they cracked, but still she did not scream; they were the ones screaming, still, their voices getting hoarse. What was it she had said all that time ago? The ones who scream broke first, lost their humanity first. Here she was, in that silence, and she filled it with nothing not even her own breath; they filled it instead, the sharp cracks of flesh tearing flesh apart. They filled it with all they needed to fill it with, their brokenness and wickedness, good men who had never done anything bad before, all their goodness wiped out with one shocking act of evil. Separate, they never would have. Together, they were the Devil, dragging Umu to Hell.

And where was Turat, why did they not let him stay with her in her final moments? All she saw was angry mouths, so many angry mouths in the silence. She did not see the brilliant silver firework of Turat, his spirit encircled by the dæmons of murderers; his spirit becoming everything she had sat up desperately to see. The men had been broken, and she was the one to break them; they beat until their hands were bloody and raw and they realised she was just a young girl, realised what they had done. 

Then they kicked the sand over her and left, leaving nothing but the sound of the sea crashing into the earth.


	10. Epilogue

In the end, it was the bears who saved Mtwara, the bears with their special armour who beat back the witches and the pirates and the angry mob of the Makua. It was the bears, with their armour, and their rage, who pushed everyone into the sea; it was the bears who kept the Tanganyikan army in Tanganyika, who kept the Wayaon guard on their side of the border. It was the bears, who were refugees from a country that hadn't existed for centuries, who saved Mtwara. The witches blood had spilled, and the pirates grabbed it up, eager to sell it to those who wanted it. The witches had betrayed each other, and in fracturing their alliances, were nothing any more. The pirates had taken on a foe too advanced for them, and found themselves without safe harbour, sitting ducks if they dared tried to make it around the Cape. And the Makua, who turned on anyone who wasn't them in a desperate bid of self-preservation, found they were left with only themselves and their raw, raw hands.

There are no happy endings here, and three girls are dead, three girls were lives full of so much promise. Umu, a stubborn girl born to be a slave, but never defined by it. Umu, whose will to be free could have led a revolution that shook the world. Hadya, the merchant girl, who only wanted to see the world, so that she could better know what to offer it. Hadya, whose defiance and cunning could have led rebel armies into revolution. Fola, the refugee with the chimp, a girl who figured out how to rise above her circumstance for what she wanted. Fola, whose gift of manipulation could have led a coup, and with it, a global political revolution.

They died with nobody knowing their names. It was the bears who saved Mtwara, but it was they who saved the bears. A short war, a blip, barely on anyone's radar, but look at their lives, and the paths they had to take to get there. A refugee, doing anything to save those like her, valiant, honourable. There is your honour, but be careful, for even thieves have a moral code. What is death with honour when honour can be found anywhere? A merchant girl, who sacrifices herself to stop her enemy. There is your extraordinary sacrifice, but be careful, because the most ardent of zealots also think they are stopping their enemies. What is the purpose of a sacrificial death when anyone can sacrifice? A slave girl, in her moment of freedom, beaten to death. There is your senselessness, your humanity, every single one of us, served to you on a platter. What is the meaning - WHAT IS THE MEANING OF IT? What is death if it is meaningless? What is life if death is meaningless? What is there to possibly find in the middle of a death that made no sense?

It is Umu, of all of them, who found what it is that we all seek there, but never find. It is Umu, who found it for the briefest of moments, moments before the rocks hit, in her final thoughts, of where the ocean meets the land, and the feel of sand between her toes. It is Umu who found it - the Republic of Heaven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here the story ends. Continue on for maps, etymology, and a walkthrough of this world vs our world.


	11. Worldbuilding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the nitty-gritty details of the world the story took place in, details of countries and allies, and strife, and so many things that were in my head, but couldn't make it into the story - and indeed, many things that also made it into the story. 
> 
> If you're just interested in the Etymology Guide and a real-world breakdown of the world vs HDM world, the next 'chapter' covers that.

Let us start in Zanzibar, where the whole world collides. Here, the Arab traders meet up with African merchants, and the witches hover at the outskirts of Zanzibar City, looking for men to fall in love with and bear their daughters. They control all of Fundo Island, and have for centuries upon centuries. The Arab nations don't permit witch-clans within their borders, so Fundo is a unique blend of witch-clans, where Arab and African have mixed so much over the centuries it is impossible to say where a witch's mothers (and so on) originated from. Pemba is largely free of the witches, they prefer Zanzibar City, with the European men, the African men, the Asian men, and the Arab men. The pirates of Somalia are allowed peaceful banking here, though the witches don't take Pirate men as their husbands. Pirate women, Pirate men, and Pirate children roam along the port, trading with anyone who will trade with them. Often merchants travelling from the North will try to complain about them, try to get their stolen merchandise returned to them, instead of being forced to buy it back. Their complaints fall on deaf ears. The Pirates might be the social outcasts, but here they have a way of life that is accepted and encouraged; they hock their goods cheaper than the merchant would sell them for. It is enough for them to be welcome, but their welcome cannot last long. Their livelihood is acquiring goods dishonestly, and no trader will put up with having their goods stolen from port. Zanzibar is slave-free, and while there is an illegal market, getting slaves off Zanzibar is all but impossible unless you enlist the help of the pirates. While the pirates like their cargo, they've steered clear of the human trade, likely deeming the risk not worth it.

Across the way in Tanganyika, the Port of Mombassa is a very different place. The Pirates are often executed on the spot, the children 'reculturalized'. That is their form of slavery in Tanganyika, as slavery has been outlawed for centuries, though the illegal market continues to thrive. The witches are tolerated, but only barely, as the Arab presence is larger in this port city. Trade is the main way of life here, at a crossroads of culture. The border of Kirinyaga, which hold Mount Kirinyaga, lies just to the West of the city. Just to the north is the border with Xamar, it's eponymous capital city the center of tensions, fighting and wars with Somali. It is where the Somali Pirates are said to originate from; where hundreds of years ago they would take their money back to their families, now their families are on their boats, and many a Pirate has grown up having never seen Somalialand or Xamar City. Their home is the water, their dæmons creatures of the water. The pirates are not the only threat to Kirinyaga, the Independent Kingdom of Maasai cuts into both Kirinyaga and a large piece of Tanganyika. The people there are not traders, they make their living from the land and the animals of the land. Their understanding of borders stretches to 'where the cattle are' and many times a young Tanganyikan will be called up for service to push the pastoralists back. Only those with fierce dæmons are selected, to combat the lion dæmons that seem to favour the Maasain men. Many times also has the conflict from Rubi spilled into Tanganyika.

Settled deep amidst the central lakes of Africa is the tiny country of Rubi, as the locals call it. It's official country name is Ruanda-Burindi, but they are better known for the complete subjugation of their people. Many have likened Rubi as 'nothing more than a kingdom of slaves' and they would be half-right, as the majority of the population are controlled by one large extended family, the Mwami family, who have ruled over the Banyarwandan people for centuries. Anyone from the population whose dæmon is judged to be too aggressive, is shipped off to 'the colonies' which are located just across Lake Kivu, in Buganda, where the Bugandan government is more than happy to look the other way and use all the force necessary to exploit the workers into mining precious minerals. Then the Bugandan government sells these minerals across the world. Buganda borders Rubi and Kivu to the south and west, Tanganyika to the south-east, it splits Lake Nam Lolwe with the Independent Kingdom of Maasai, Acholiland to the north, and it splits Lake Azande with the Republic of Sudan. Buganda is one of the richest countries in Africa, its minerals earning them vast wealth. The slave-labour that produces that wealth resists, but unless it is a conflict from Rubi that has spilled over, the Bugandan government has the slaves largely under control. When conflict arises in Rubi, from those with 'passive' dæmons finding their own, it is the entire central African region that is affected - and those reverberations are felt all over the continent and indeed the globe. 

Katanga, Rubi's final neighbour, to the southwest, bears the brunt of the civil war, with many Rubi refugees crossing Lake Tanganyika into Katanga, seeking shelter and protection. Katanga, itself mineral-rich, is quick to defend the refugees, knowing they can be exploited for labour. Unlike Buganda, the refugees of Rubi make some wages mining in Katanga - it is a far better existence than that of those who are sent to the colonies. Buganda, eager to protect its labour supply, and knowing it can gain more, often attacks Katanga, via its neighbour, Kivu, whose secondary economy is supplying illegal slaves to Tanganyika, just as they sell minerals to Buganda, in essence funding both sides of the war. Tanganyika, a strategic ally of Katanga (many minerals are traded for safe access to the eastern sea), will enter the conflict. Then, the Bawemba people, of the Semi-Autonomous Region of Bemba (which is claimed by Katanga), often revolt, seeing no better chance for true independence than to come at a time of conflict. Katanga, far more powerful, pushes the Bawemban rebels back, many crossing into Maravi to escape certain persecution. It is interesting that they choose Maravi, but they daren't choose to enter Chakunzi, a strict land of kings and slaves; one must prove their lineage or be taken in Tanganyika, to be illegally sold at market. Just across Lake Chiuta is an enclave of land belonging to Chakunzi, where many a Tanganyikan will go to purchase a Bawemban slave and smuggle it back into the country. The Arab Republic of Wayao, just to the South of the Tanganyikan/Chakunzian border, abhor the use of slavery - they, unlike their neighbours to the North, enforce the freedoms of their people. Their people are entirely free. Routinely, when conflict that has started in Rubi finds its way to the edge of Lake Chiuta in the form of a glut of slaves, Wayao will attack the enclave, taking the Bawemba slaves to be refugees into Wayao. Interesting, the Arab Republic of Wayao used to be one of the world's leaders in the slave trade. Many internal civil wars over the centuries have led Wayao to now being one of the world's largest leaders of freedom for all peoples. It is here, luckily, in Wayao, that the conflict stops, but again, the reverberations are felt all over the world, as trade is disrupted and prices globally rise.

Wayao isn't entirely a welcoming country. Any witch - or suspected witch - is put to death on sight. Any of the talking Moroccan Bears - themselves refugees in Mtwara - are put to death on sight. Any Pirate that tries to port will find his ship burned in front of him and his family and children burned on board. After he has exhausted his appeals for death will he finally be beheaded. Rows of skulls are often seen lining the roads in Wayao, pirate, witch, and bear alike. An odd comfort for a newly freed slave. Wayao has a strong educational system, one of the best in the world, and their Universities are attended by scholars from as far away as London, Nippon, and Texas. While up in the North the world is dominated by the Magesterium, here in Wayao, it is the Union of Sultans that control the country. The only difference is, dissent is encouraged in Wayao, a free exchange of ideas being one of the largest tenants of a free society. That is what Wayao aims to be, the freest society in the world. Mtwara, blocking a piece of Wayao from the sea, is, in sharp contrast to Wayao, underdeveloped, one of the smallest nations on the African continent, and teeming with bears, pirates, and witches alike. It is the only African country that a minority population of human. It is a narrow piece of land, where lawlessness is said to be King. The minority Makua people live in harmony with their counterparts, and claims of lawlessness are largely exaggerated. It is true that here there is no one law that encompasses bears, man, pirates, and witches together, but a series of laws that are abided by each group (save the pirates who have and recognize no laws outside each other). Wayao and Tanganyika both still try, from time to time, to conquer Mtwara. While underdeveloped, it is coastal and access to the sea is what drives wealth. For millennia, Mtwara has remained free. It is here in Mtwara where worlds collide, but in a different way than Zanzibar, just up the coast. It is here in Mtwara where our stories ended.


	12. Etymology and Map Guide

** People:  **

Fola: Fola is from the Bawemba/Bemba people. Her name is Bemba and means 'Honour'. Onika is also a Bemba name and means 'Warrior'.

Umu: In traditional Banyarwandan naming ceremonies, a child is given three names: a surname, a family name, and a Christian name. Since Rubi has not been as affected by Christian influence as our world Burundi and Rwanda, Umu was given a surname and a family name. Umutoni means elite, and Umutesi means stubborn. Turatsinze is also Rwandan and means 'we are the winners'.

Hadya: Hadya is simply an Arab name that means gift or sacrifice. Amit is an Arab word for death.

The man with the leopard dæmon: His name is never given, but he reveals that he is not a pirate. Leopards are found all over much of Sub-Saharan Africa, but there is a cluster of them in the Serengeti, in Tanzania. Our mystery man is Tanganyikan, looking to make his fortune by helping the pirates overthrow Mtwara. 

Imana: Banyarwandan name meaning 'Supreme God'. 

Illota: Illota is just a name that I made up; it has a few references in our world, but nothing that influenced his name, no hidden etymology behind it. Illota the bear comes from a lost culture, and giving him a name with no meaning seemed only fitting. Interestingly, before I'm told there are no bears in Africa, there used to be bears in the Atlas Mountains region, in Southern Morocco, but they were hunted to extinction. 

Kyeet: Kyeet is named, but his witch isn't. None of the witches are. There's no mystery to Kyeet either - his name is onomatopoeic for the sound my friend's bird makes when he is put back into his cage.

** Places: **

Zanzibar - The Islands of Zanzibar and Pemba, which in our world merged with Tanganyika to form Tanzania.

Fundo Island - an island just off the coast of Pemba, it forms a natural barrier for Pemba.

Tanganyika - mostly our-world Tanzania, cutting into large swaths of our-world Kenya.

Kirinyaga - The name for Kenya - Kenya is the 'westernized' form of Kirinyaga, again the borders have significantly changed.

Xamar - southern part of our-world Somalia, another name for Mogadishu, which is its eponymous capital city.

Independent Kingdom of Maasai - where large parts of the ethnic Maasai are located - it cuts into our-world Uganda, Kenya, and Tanzania.

Rubi - roughly our-world Rwanda and Burundi. In the story, Umu mentions the languages spoken in Rwanda and Burundi, both are from the same language family. In our world, Kirundi is the main language of Burundi while in Rwanda, Kinyarwanda is the main language. In HDM, both are spoken interchangeably (the ruling Mwami prefer Kirundi, but are fluent in both).

Mwami - our-world name for the ancient kings of Rwanda; while the conflict with Hutu and Tutsi isn't entirely a western creation, I needed a way for one group to stay in power in a way that was 'hard-line' definitive, so I created the Mwami, who substitute for the minority-Tutsi, and the Rubi are substitutes for the majority-Hutu.

Buganda - southern Uganda, with parts of Tanzania and the DRC, including four of the Great Lakes. Uganda in our world is derived from the Buganda, a large ethno-linguistic group. 

Lake Nam Lolwe - Lake Victoria, Nam Lolwe is one of the many names that the lake is called.

Lake Buganda - Lake Edward - named after the country.

Lake Azande - Lake Albert - named after the Azande people. In our world, the Azande people occupied much of the Sudan until the Arab conquests of the 1500s, when they were defeated. In HDM, Civil war is common in the Azande region, though the southern tribes have never been able to fully win independence against their conquerors.

Acholiland - Northern Uganda, named after the Acholi people, who have been at the center of much unrest in our world Uganda. 

Sudan - is a large swatch of the Sahara, encompassing much of modern day Sudan, Chad, the Central African Republic, and Northern DRC. 

Katanga - south and east DRC. Katanga was a semi-autonomous region of the newly-independent Congo from 1961-2. HDM-Katanga is larger than our-world Katanga province.

Kivu - our-world eastern DRC, borders Buganda, Sudan, Katanga, the Congo, and shares Lake Kivu with Rubi. The mineral-rich Kivu province in our world is mired in conflict. Many minerals not naturally found in Rwanda are nevertheless exported by Rwanda.

Semi-Autonomous Region of Bemba - consists mostly of north-eastern our world Namibia. Based on the geo-ethnic profile of the Bawemba/Bemba people.

Maravi - northern part of present-day Mozambique and pieces of Malawi, though not the northern or southern-most pieces. Maravi is a Chewa word meaning 'fire-flames' and is where our-world Malawi derives its name from.

Chakunzi - Northern-most piece of Malawi. Derived from the Chewa words for food and water. 

Phiri - A large Chewa clan. In our world, the Phiri were the driving leaders of trade in the region. In this HDM universe, they have their own kingdom while the rest of the Chewa people occupy Maravi; hence why the language of Chankunzi and Maravi are the same, with regional dialects.

Lake Chiuta - Lake Malawi/Lake Nyasa. Chiuta is an all-power deity worshiped by the Tumbuka people. In HDM as in our world, they are an ethnic minority in Malawi and Tanzania. Again, I couldn't fit this tidbit in, so it gets dropped here.

Arab Republic of Wayao - encompasses much of our world southern tanzania, most of mozambique, most of zimbabwe, and a slice of malawi. Wayao is named after the Yao people, who are, in our world, predominantly Muslim. I wanted to avoid naming religions in the fic, so it's the Arab Republic, but since religion is such a strong component of their culture, you can assume that they practice HDM Islam, much like Lyra's England practices HDM Christianity.

Mtwara - A scraping of Tanzania and a narrow slice of Mozambique that runs along the ocean. It is named after an underdeveloped region of Tanzania, though interestingly, I'm not sure if I drew it to include our world Mtwara City. 

The Kingdom: Hadya's homeland, never easily defined, for two reasons. 1) Hadya herself doesn't know the true extent of her homeland, and 2) I will admit that I did not do any research into the Arabian peninsula to see the extent of it, or where Persia would start, or Kurdistan, or any of it. That is, perhaps, a fic for another time.

  
(This map is by no means perfect, nor is it as detailed as I would like, but it does show the our-world, HDM-world differences and similarities.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to give some due credit here to Kastaka, who read the fic, and talked me into changes that make the fic much better (no glorious info dump in the beginning chapter!), who caught my tripping into omniscient third person, and who ultimately convinced me to let go and trust my readers with the story. Thank you so much, I am incredibly grateful. 
> 
> I couldn't have done this without my cheerleaders, of voksen, and yarns, and isa. hh, kristin, snow, and Llwyden. aei and dre, sel, nightmistresses, and frenetic, and anyone else that I am missing because my fingers are going to fall off right about now.
> 
> and yes, even you, Neb. Without your love of worldbuilding, I never would have written this. I never expected it to be this long, and I could write you 10,000 more words on just the world alone, the pieces that didn't make it into the fic, all the little details I'm trusting the readers with. 
> 
> Thank you reader, for reading this, my epic love letter to fantasy.


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